Green PicklesMatt Seinberg

I have a friend at work, Charlie, who always brings in his lunch, and it’s always the same thing, turkey on whole wheat with a green pickle spear. I asked him about that today, and he says that somebody always wants a piece of his big, green pickle. Was it any particular brand, or taste? He just said it was sour dill, not kosher.

That of course opened up a completely new conversation, including the most unusual places he’s had a pickle. He just gave me a wicked smile, and said that I wouldn’t believe the places his pickle has been.

When Charlie was younger, his green pickle got him into many places, and lots of trouble. You see, when you travel with a big green pickle, people not only want to see it, but to taste it.

Anyway, Charlie always went to clubs when he was younger, and he always took his green pickle for a snack, just in case he didn’t like anything on the menu. If there was always something Charlie could count on, it’s having his big green pickle with him at all times.

Charlie told me, for some reason, it was women, rather than men, that wanted to try his big green pickle. Depending how good looking the woman was, she might get lucky enough to get a taste of the big green pickle. He also told me if she was nice, he’d let her have the entire pickle to take home, since he had so many at home.

The question begged asking. Did he have just quarter spears or the entire pickle at home that he cut up himself?

He just gave me another wicked smile, and said that he preferred his pickles quite large, and his woman friends did, too.

I also like pickles, and usually pick up a couple of jars of Vlasic kosher sour dills when I’m at BJ’s Wholesale Club. When I told Charlie this, he replied that he liked BJ’s as well.

Does anyone remember the days of going to the neighbourhood deli? There you could find huge large barrels of pickles, all different flavors, sizes and shapes?

You would reach into the barrel with a set of tongs, pick out the one you want, and put it into a bag. Sometimes you’d see people eating them before they got to the checkout line, and not pay for it. The cashier might be a little suspicious if they saw pickle juice running down their chin.

If you’ve ever been to Ben’s Deli and Restaurant, or many diners on Long Island, they still serve plates of pickles and coleslaw as an appetizer before you even order your meal. You’d be so full from that, you couldn’t finish the massive meal that came after.

I envy Charlie for having a big green pickle every day, and wish that I remembered to bring mine in for lunch as well. Oh well, tomorrow is another day.

Matt Seinberg lives on Long Island, a few minutes east of New York City. He looks at everything around him and notices much. Somewhat less cynical than dyed in the wool New Yorkers, Seinberg believes those who don't see what he does
like reading about what he sees and what it means to him. Seinberg columns revel in the silly little things of life and laughter as well as much well-directed anger at inept, foolish public officials. Mostly, Seinberg writes for those who laugh easily at their own foibles as well as those of others.